


Stormy Night

by esteven



Category: Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteven/pseuds/esteven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's reaction to the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the one</p><p>My thanks to Ferox for betaing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stormy Night

The storm had died down to a more manageable degree and Jack dragged himself to his cabin, icy water squelching in his boots. The wind had freed most of his hair from its bow, so that it was now plastered to his skin. Water had gushed down the collar of his greatcoat and into his uniform so that his open coats, shirt and breeches now clung to his body; the water had doubled their weight, making every movement a chore. He leaned against the closed door and closed his eyes, weary from the events of the past few hours.

The mizzen-top had splintered and crashed into the foaming sea, still attached by the rigging to the stump of its mast. _Surprise_ had been near broaching, and the few men on deck, who were too tired even to swear as they flailed about trying to do their duty, had hardly been able to keep their balance on the sloping deck.

The captain hadn’t needed Pullings’ reminder that the wreckage was acting as a sea anchor to know that the lines had to be cut, and fast. It had been a question of one man’s survival against that of the ship and everybody else. Understanding had dawned in Mr Allen’s eyes and the master had soon returned with three axes from a nearby locker handing two of them solemnly to the captain.

Nagle’s eyes had widened when his captain held out an axe. In order to save the ship, he knew he would have to betray his friend, who was even now fighting desperately through the violent waves. Jack had been able to see the struggle between duty and brotherhood on the young man’s tearstained face as Nagle’s trembling hand closed around the axe.

Jack had briefly thought back to when Nagle and Warley had come to his cabin with a model of Acheron, for which they had received an extra ration of rum. Now he had to order one of them to help cut the lines to the mizzen, spelling certain death for the one abandoned in the freezing sea around the Horn.

Jack, Allen and Nagle had hacked away at the lines, while the ship heaved and groaned under the strain of the storm ripping at her sheets and her rigging. When Jack cut the last of the tar-covered lines connecting the mizzen top to the ship, _Surprise_ had righted herself almost immediately. Over the din of the storm, he had heard the shouts of relief coming from the waist. Encouraged, he had pulled himself together for Allen, for Nagle, and for the few hands above deck.

After all, a captain may not always be right, but he must always appear in control. Soon all the hands would know what had been done to save their lives, and they would be main upset, because Warley, the captain of the mizzenmast, had been popular.

When Jack opened the door and had become accustomed to the dim circle of light from the ceiling, he saw dry breeches, shirt and stockings spread across the table. He had expected Killick to be there, but his steward was nowhere to be seen.

He nearly shouted for him before he noticed not only towels and blankets on the locker seats, but also a dark shadow near the stern windows where the lantern’s light had not reached at first. He realised that it was Stephen, standing with his back to the windows, and wondered briefly why his friend was here and not in the cockpit where the men injured during the storm would need the Surprise’s surgeon. Their eyes met and Stephen crossed the short distance, stretched out a hand and took Jack’s elbow.

“Come in, brother, and let me help you out of your soaked clothes, else you will catch your death of cold,” he said softly.

“Was none of the men injured during this vile storm?” whispered Jack hoarsely.

“Amazingly enough there are only minor injuries – cracked ribs, a few lacerations and abrasions, and one dislocated shoulder – but nothing that bandages, ointments and rest cannot cure. Thomas Pullings told me what happened and how _Surprise_ and her men were saved by decisive action.”

Jack nodded shortly and allowed Stephen to guide him to the stern lockers. 

The doctor walked gingerly behind him, aware that the puddles that had formed from Jack’s dripping clothes made the floor dangerously slippery. He reached around to grab the lapels of both Jack’s coats, which he then eased over Jack’s shoulders, tugging at each arm and slowly pulling the coats down together. It was not easy, because Jack stood motionless, shoulders slumped, eyes fixed at a far-away point. He couldn’t have been more indifferent to Stephen’s solicitous actions if Stephen had been making another attempt at battling Jack’s considerable sixteen stone weight.

Stephen dropped the coats to the floor. With a hand on Jack’s shoulder, he urged his friend to turn around. He then bent to unbutton and unbuckle Jack’s breeches and eased his hands inside the waistband to peel the breeches down as far as the knees. He straightened and cupped the side of Jack’s face in the palm of one hand. 

“You look exhausted, dear,” he said, stroking gently along the stubbled jaw. This small physical contact brought Jack’s attention back to the present and Stephen was rewarded with a tired little smile.

He smoothed back some wet locks of hair from around Jack’s eyes and wiped carefully at a strand clinging to a cheekbone. His index finger rubbed lightly at one corner of Jack’s mouth and then outlined the contours of Jack’s lips, barely touching. He made his movements deliberately slow so as not to startle his friend. He stretched up towards Jack’s bent head, their faces near touching, his mouth near the scarred left ear, and whispered, “Joy, please, will you not sit before you fall down?”

Jack turned his head slightly, stubble rasping against stubble; he turned further and again Stephen saw that ghost of a smile. Then Jack sat down and stretched his legs out in front of him.

Stephen lifted that part of Jack’s hair which was still held by its black ribbon and spread a blanket across his friend’s shoulders and arms. Then he knelt, pushed Jack’s clinging shirt up a bit and dried Jack’s thighs with another cloth, after which he covered his friend’s lap with a second blanket for warmth.

Then he took off Jack’s boots, emptied the water out and threw them to the side. Killick would see whether they could be rescued or had to be given up as completely ruined.

No word was spoken when he pulled Jack’s breeches down the rest of the way. Naked white thighs were chilled and cold to the touch. Jack shivered and Stephen tapped at each calf to indicate that Jack had to lift his feet in order for Stephen to divest him of his clothes.

A hand touched Stephen’s hair and he looked up into blue eyes that were red-rimmed, either from the salt water or tears, he did not know. Jack rolled some strands of Stephen’s short hair between his fingers, gently tugging at them. He ran his hand along Stephen’s jaw and smiled his thanks at his friend. 

The moment was broken when Stephen turned his head to the side and pressed a soft kiss into Jack’s palm. He bent to his task again, peeling the wet stockings down clammy feet and pulling the blanket on Jack’s lap down to cover the legs too. He rested his hands on his friend’s thighs and pushed himself up to his feet. Then he patted Jack’s arm.

“Will you not help me, for all love? You cannot lie down in this wet shirt if you do not want to catch your death of cold.” Stephen lifted it over Jack’s head and dropped it on the heap of clothes and towels. Then he reached across for the last of the dry towels and wiped Jack’s shoulders, back, arms and chest.

Jack looked down, shoulders slumped, knees spread, his right foot on top of his left, and his hands holding the edges of his seat so hard that his knuckles had turned white. His arms and legs trembled. He was shivering from the cold so Stephen quickly fetched the fresh shirt from the table and helped his friend into it. Then he spread the only dry blanket left across his friend’s shoulders and arms. He began to massage Jack’s back through the blanket and shirt with deft sweeping strokes to provide extra warmth. When he had finished, he wrapped the blankets around Jack, tucking the ends under his arms to keep them in place.

As if on cue and without being told, Killick returned unannounced with another set of dry towels under his arm and a tray with a carafe of port and two glasses in his hands. He placed the dry towels and the tray on the middle locker next to Jack’s watch with a grumbled "Which these towels will be needed." 

Killick looked from his captain to the doctor, harrumphed and opened his mouth to say something else, but when Stephen shook his head slightly in warning he merely bent to pick up the wet clothes, towels and blankets and left, pursing his lips in silent disapproval.

Jack exhaled slowly and leant forward to rest his brow on Stephen’s chest, grateful for his friend’s timely defence from Killick’s well-intentioned yet acid tongue. Stephen moved his hands across Jack’s back and felt the tense muscles through the blanket. He rubbed his hands along Jack’s shoulders, pressed the heel of his hands to the collarbones, varying the strength of the pressure, swept around the throat to the back again and turned his strokes into a massage along Jack’s spine. After a while his thumbs reached Jack’s nape and he moved them up and down the bent neck in slow circles. He leant forward and first kissed the crown of Jack’s head and then rested his cheek on the still wet hair. Jack’s breathing slowed and his thighs and arms trembled less as Stephen’s nearness comforted him.

The doctor straightened and reached for one of the towels while his right index finger continued to circle the vertebrae at the back of Jack’s neck. It was an awkward position, but Stephen did not wish to deprive his friend of their physical contact, or at least that was what he told himself. 

Then he lifted Jack’s ponytail and spread a fresh towel across his shoulders. He plucked at the black ribbon that bound the hair. The knot stubbornly refused to loosen, the water having pulled it tight, but Stephen patiently worked at it until eventually he succeeded. He rewarded himself by combing through the silken mess, separating the strands of hair, helping them to dry more easily.

Stephen then towelled the hair from the crown of the head down to the tips lying on Jack’s shoulders and back, his movements changing from sweeping strokes to a gentle caress. He took the strands that clung to the sides of Jack’s face and patted them with the woollen cloth.

The hair was now merely damp but still coarse from the salt water, so Stephen slung the towel over his shoulder and resumed combing through Jack’s hair with his fingers.

Jack’s breathing evened under Stephen’s tender ministrations and his trembling eased. He looked up and whispered, “Stephen, I...”

“Hush, soul.” Stephen cupped the back of Jack’s head and drew him forward so his brow rested on Stephen’s chest again. Stephen’s fingers circled and caressed the soft skin at Jack’s nape for a while before he took the ribbon from the seat and tied his friend’s hair at the back. Despite the grave situation the ship and her crew were still in, Stephen was enjoying this rare opportunity for intimacy, and he knew when he felt Jack breathe deeply that his friend felt the same. Only because of Stephen’s soothing presence was Jack now able to pull away and lean against the backrest, needing space to think his actions through.

Stephen watched as Jack disappeared behind the tightly pressed lips, the fisted hands, and the deepening brow line that were the signs of Captain Aubrey’s return. Much as Stephen regretted these changes, he knew they were necessary so his friend was able again to lead his men. The doctor stepped back and bent to pour two glasses of port, handing one to Aubrey. “Your port, sir.” 

The captain looked up, nodded and took the glass from his friend’s hand. Their fingers touched, and he rubbed his over Stephen’s knuckle to show his love and gratitude for the support given.

Jack downed the contents of the glass in one swallow before returning it to the tray and shaking his head slightly when Stephen made to speak. 

Stephen nodded and went to the table for the dry stockings and breeches to hold them out to him.

Jack picked up the blanket that was still spread across his legs, folded it neatly and put it to the side. Then he took the stockings and bent to put them on, pulling them as high as they would go. He stood to put on the breeches and tucked the shirt into them loosely, hitching them up slightly for ease before he sat down again. He reached for the decanter and poured himself another glass of the red, but instead of drinking he set it down in front of his feet. 

Jack Aubrey, the captain of _Surprise_ was reappearing and Stephen sat down on a locker some distance away from him. He dried his hands on the crumpled handkerchief from the depths of his pockets and looked at the black-and-white chequered floor, gathering his thoughts on how best to give comfort to his friend without sounding as if he had some moral advantage. For a while they sat in silence.

When he turned his head, Stephen saw that the captain was still sitting with his shoulders bowed and his hands spread on his thighs as if it took a great effort not to collapse. He rubbed the sole of his left foot mechanically against the right foot as if he was still frozen from the rain and storm and needed to get warm. Maybe he was just lost in thought. Stephen did not want to address his friend directly and so he looked at the ceiling before he spoke up: “The deaths in actual battle are the easiest to bear. For my own part, those who die under my knife, or from some subsequent infection...I have to remind myself that it was the enemy that killed them, not me. That young man was a casualty of war. As you said yourself, you have to choose the lesser of two evils.”

Jack bent for the glass of port. “Weevils.” He only managed a half smile, although it was an old and favourite joke. Stephen understood his mix of emotions and half-smiled back.


End file.
